The Law of Isolation (54 page)

She met his glare and dropped her voice to a whisper. “That was him! The reason we’re here. Now let go of me and say something reasonable. People are staring.”

The look Kabos gave her was full of loathing. But he dropped her arm and stepped back. Gruffly, he said, “Very well. But no more.”

“All right, Father. Whatever you say.” Nirel dropped her gaze until the curious onlookers turned away. She turned to watch the dancers weaving in and out of complex figures. Beside her, Kabos did the same.

After a moment of silence he took up his complaint again, in a low but urgent undertone. “The Elder didn’t command you to throw yourself at the boy. You can accomplish your task without flouting everything the Ordinances say of proper behavior.”

“Father, Elder Davon told me to do whatever I needed to in order to get Vigorre’s attention and feed him the information. You know what’s at stake. I made a good start, but I’m not done yet. I’m going to have to speak with him again later. If that means dancing another waltz with him, that’s what I’ll do.”

Kabos breathed heavily. Nirel darted her eyes around without turning her head. She didn’t think anyone was close enough to hear their whispers, but it worried her to be speaking so openly of secrets that must not be revealed.

She lowered her voice even further. “Father, I swear, I will do nothing to shame you. I only want to obey you, and Elder Davon, and the Lord of Justice.”

She glanced at him. His fists were clenched at his sides, and rage boiled behind his eyes as he stared unseeing across the room.

After a long silence, he closed his eyes. “Do what you must,” he ground out between clenched teeth. He turned jerkily and strode across the room.

Nirel watched him go, breathing hard. She blinked rapidly to clear her eyes. Tears would smudge the cosmetics she’d applied so carefully. It took the rest of the dance for her to recover her composure enough to walk slowly back to the table of food where Mansan and his group of friends, Vigorre among them, were gathering.

She tried to act normally, but Mansan took one look at her face and frowned in concern. “Hey, you’re not in trouble with your father, are you?”

Her smile was shaky. “He didn’t like me waltzing.”

Mansan grinned and lifted one shoulder. “He’ll get used to it. Most of our parents have.”

A girl jumped in. “The first time they played a waltz at a ball, half of us had to stand it out, and the other half got yelled at afterward.”

The rest were quick to add their commiseration. Nirel gradually relaxed, tension draining from muscles she hadn’t realized were clenched, as she listened to tales of excessive reactions by overprotective parents. She was surprised and touched by how eager the others seemed to ease her unhappiness and help her feel accepted into their circle. She took the plate of food someone handed her and snared a drink from a passing tray.

When the next dance started, she let one of the boys lead her onto the floor. Over the course of the next few hours she was never without an eager partner. No more waltzes, just comfortably formal formations. Vigorre was always nearby, sometimes touching her hand or briefly circling with her as the pattern of a dance brought them together, but he didn’t try to speak to her. She kept track of him, but considered it wise to wait before attempting to contact him again. It was pleasant to set aside her mission for a while and enjoy the evening. She wished Kevessa was there to share it with her. What was her friend doing, far away in Tevenar, among the wizards she’d been so curious about?

Nirel’s feet hurt. She was beginning to wish Lady Yovella had provided chairs for her guests when the musicians laid aside their instruments and excused themselves. She rejoined what she’d come to think of as her group as they assembled by the tables.

Mansan was quick to reclaim his role as guide. “Nirel, a bunch of us are going out for a walk around the gardens. Do you want to come?”

She tried not to be too obvious as she scanned the gathering crowd, but Mansan laughed. “Yes, he’s coming, too.” He jerked his head to where Vigorre hovered at the edge of the group.

Nirel flushed. It was all right if Mansan and the others misinterpreted her interest in the First Keeper’s son. It made a convenient cover for her real purpose. But she hesitated, glancing across the room. “My father…”

“It will be fine,” Mansan assured her. “Look, Lady Yovella’s right by him. She’ll tell him it’s what we always do. The parents will be coming out to join us after a while. But they let us have a little privacy first.” He grinned.

Sure enough, after a glance at the young people, Lady Yovella took Kabos’s arm and steered him away, chattering brightly at him. Nirel took a deep breath. “All right.”

She trailed along as the group made for a pair of wide, windowed doors on the far side of the room. They led to a terrace overlooking a broad green lawn. Torches illuminated a long rectangular fountain splashing in the center and marked out paths that wound away between banks of flowering bushes.

Laughing and chattering, the group traipsed down the stairs and spread out across the lawn. A few couples headed off on their own, but enough people remained that Nirel didn’t feel awkward. She chatted with Mansan and a handful of others for a while. When that gathering broke up, she drifted over to watch the arching droplets of water that sparkled ruby and amber in the flickering torchlight. The cool autumn evening felt good after the exercise of dancing and the close air of the ballroom.

Even though she’d deliberately set the stage for it to happen, she was startled when Vigorre’s quiet voice spoke in her ear. “Would you like to walk with me?”

Nirel’s heart pounded. “Yes.” She rested her hand on Vigorre’s offered elbow. He guided her to a side path. Tall glossy bushes bedecked with globular blooms closed around them. They might have been deep within a forest, except that occasional torches cast yellow circles on the sand of the path. Rising over the bushes and between the trees, Nirel glimpsed the tall white shape of their host’s home.

“It’s nearly winter, yet there are so many flowers.” Nirel stopped to admire one of the many-petaled blossoms.

“These are camellias.” Vigorre broke a bloom from the bush and pressed it into her hand. “They like the cool weather. You have no winter flowers in Tevenar?”

“Not in the mountains. Where I grew up, the trees lose their leaves in the fall, and there’s snow on the ground most of the winter.” Nirel twisted the flower stem between her fingers.

“I’ve never seen snow. It doesn’t fall in Ramunna.”

“That’s what Kevessa said. Maybe she’ll get to see some now. Although I heard it’s not very common in Elathir.”

Vigorre leaned toward her. “Do you think she’s all right? All of us worried when she disappeared.”

Nirel wished she could share the full story with him, but that was out of the question. She chose her words carefully. “I know she made it onto the ship and left with Professor Gevan for Tevenar.”

“Good. He’ll take care of her.”

Irrationally, the concern in his voice bothered Nirel. “Do you know Kevessa well?”

Vigorre quirked an eyebrow at her. “Only as a friend.”

“I didn’t mean—” Flustered, Nirel looked away.

“I know.” He chuckled. “All of us whose parents are of a certain status know each other. We’ve been seeing each other on social occasions all our lives. It’s a rather small community. Almost everyone’s here tonight.”

Nirel frowned. “It seems like a big crowd to me. I never had any friends growing up. Just my family.”

It was his turn to frown at her. “None at all?”

Defensive, Nirel turned away. “Our farm was a long way away from our neighbors.” She set off down the path again, and Vigorre followed her.

They didn’t speak for a while. The path twisted back and forth, winding down a small but steep incline. At the bottom a tiny stream, barely a foot across, gurgled over a bed of smooth rocks. A wrought iron bench, all curlicues and twisted columns, graced a little alcove off the main path. Nirel gratefully sank onto it. Vigorre sat beside her.

He looked across the stream to the dark woods looming on the far bank. “What do you think of Ramunna? Do you like it here?”

Nirel sorted through the mixed emotions raised by the seemingly-simple question. “I—It’s very different. Parts of it I like very much. I’ve learned so much since I came here, met so many interesting people…” She groped to find words to express her feelings without offending. “But some things bother me. There are so many restrictions on women. And so much about your lives seems determined by who you are, who your parents are. I mean, at home lots of people apprentice to their parents’ guild, but you
can
join any guild you want, if they’ll take you.”

“I can see how our ways might seem confining to you.” He was quiet for a moment. “But tonight, for instance, the ball, the gardens…”

“They’re wonderful,” she reassured him.

“I’m glad you like them.” He shifted, settling back. With a smooth motion he stretched his arm and rested it along the back of the bench, brushing Nirel’s shoulders.

Nirel froze. Conflicting impulses assailed her. Part of her wanted to pull away. She barely knew Vigorre. They’d met only a few hours ago, shared only a few words. But part of her remembered the way it had felt to waltz in his arms and wanted to lean into him and feel his warmth again.

The Ordinances went into exhaustive detail about exactly what a woman was permitted to do with a man. Pretty much everything her body was whispering it wanted was forbidden. You weren’t even supposed to kiss a man unless you were betrothed to him. If Kabos were to see her here, his reaction would be even more extreme than his earlier outrage.

Under ordinary circumstances, the Elders would agree with him, and assign her strict and painful penance for even allowing Vigorre’s arm to rest against her shoulders without protest. But these circumstances were far from ordinary.

An Elder could order her to break an Ordinance for the good of the Faithful as a whole. Elder Davon had done just that. He’d instructed her to do whatever it took to convince Vigorre she was telling the truth. He’d given her a funny look as he said it. She’d nodded earnestly and promised to obey, not really understanding what he meant. But now it seemed obvious. He must have pictured events playing out this way. Why else would he have chosen a young woman to carry out this particular assignment?

Her mission was the most important thing. If she let Vigorre have a little of what he so obviously wanted, he’d be much more likely to believe her when she confided in him. Physical intimacy would set the stage for emotional intimacy. It would seem natural to him that she’d be willing to share her terrible secret.

And if she enjoyed playing her part, would that be so bad? It wasn’t like she’d let him do anything really out of bounds. Not that he’d ask it of her. She thought.

Making the decision was one thing. Acting on it was another. Nirel swallowed. She forced her tense muscles to relax. She let herself lean back ever so slightly, so that her shoulders pressed a fraction more firmly into Vigorre’s arm.

He breathed out. The tips of his fingers curled to cup her upper arm. Even through the fabric of her sleeve she could feel the heat of his skin.

For a moment they were both quiet. When he spoke, his voice was a little breathless. “Will you be attending more balls?”

Nirel wanted to shrug, but that would involve moving her shoulders against his encircling arm. Instead she gave her head a little twist. “I don’t know. Maybe, if I’m invited. Although I don’t really fit in with all of you. My father’s a farmer, not someone with status.”

“You have the Matriarch’s favor; that’s status enough. I’m sure you’ll receive more invitations. No one will want to let Lady Yovella have sole claim to hosting you.” He looked away. “Father’s talked about holding a ball for my coming of age. He did for my older siblings. I didn’t really want one, but maybe, if you could come… Rothen parties are famous, ask anyone. I hear some people haven’t recovered from the wedding yet.”

If she succeeded in her mission tonight, maybe the Elders would trust her with further tasks. She could be a secret source of information and influence within the community of the powerful. That would give her more opportunities to spend time in Vigorre’s company.

She fiddled with the camellia she still held. “That sounds like fun. But I can’t promise anything.”

“I know. Think about it, though.”

“I will.”

Vigorre nodded. He was quiet for a while, looking out over the little stream.

Nirel needed to keep him talking. Elder Davon had coached her on which subjects were likely to draw him out. She looked sideways at Vigorre. “Your father recently remarried?”

If the question was too personal, he didn’t give any indication. “Yes. Not long before your ship got here.”

“They were saying… she’s very young, isn’t she?”

“Not that young. Twenty-four. Of course, Father’s seventy, so people are going to talk.”

“Does it bother you?”

He shrugged. “She makes Father happy. He’s the kind of man who needs a wife. After my stepmother died… he’d never seemed old to me before, but he did then. For three years, he was so… tired, empty. Then when he met Nathenarre, he was his old self again. I’ll always thank her for that.”

Nirel nodded. “Tell me about your family. Where do you fit in?”

He chuckled. “Are you sure you want to hear the whole tale? It will take a while.”

This time Nirel did shrug. She liked the way his arm felt, sliding against her back. She settled a little more firmly into his side. “I’m listening.”

“All right.” He took a deep breath. “Father’s been married five times. My oldest brother is nearly fifty. I have three brothers and a sister from Father’s first marriage. Then his first wife died, and five years later he married again. Three sisters from that one. All my older siblings are married; I’ve got dozens of nieces and nephews, several close to my age.”

He scuffed the toe of one shoe in the sand. “She died, too. Ten years later he married my mother. I was their only child.” His voice roughened. “She died when I was seven.”